Furry Ops
by lord-hajime
Summary: In the depths of the Vietnamese jungle, Alex Mason must face his fears in order to save the world from imminent demise. But he is not alone, for Fox McCloud comes from the stars to help him in his quest. Horrors await them- horrors that can only be overcome by working together. Rated M for language and violence.
1. Chapter 1

**Furry Ops**

**Prologue**

T minus 24 hours, Mt. Hue:

The wind howled cruelly at the mouth of the cave. Alex Mason was squatting in a dark corner cleaning the AK-47 he had captured from a VC earlier that day. He was in the high passes of the Vietnam Mountains, far behind enemy lines. _If they capture me out here, _he thought _my own country would deny my very existence._

But as he scrubbed the last of the caked-on blood off of the rifle's barrel, he turned his thoughts elsewhere. Not two days ago, when he had begun his ascent into this hell, he had seen a strange light in the sky…

**Part 1**

T minus 66 hours, Mt. Hue:

Mason had just parted ways with his long-time comrade and friend Frank Woods. Woods' last words were: "Try not to get yourself killed." Mason's were: "Ditto."

He reflected on whether or not he would see Woods again. He shrugged it off and focused on the mission. He had been sent deep into the mountain range to locate and destroy a missile site currently held by the NVA. It was him alone—HQ knew that too many cooks would spoil the soup, and McNamara had a very particular palate.

He was sent in with his 1911 (which he affectionately named "Sally"), two extra clips of ammo, a silencer, a hunting knife, and a bag packed with C4. Virtually, he was naked—yet the gear seemed heavy to him. _This gear symbolizes the weight of the Western world. I cannot fail!_

At that very moment, he heard (or saw, since the sensation was unlike anything he had ever experienced before) something to his right. He darted his vision in that direction, crouched, and brought up his sidearm. He stared beyond the tree line and into the overcast skyline. And there it was: a purple disc floating in the clouds. Its size could not be judged, since he had no idea how close he was to the anomaly. He referred to it as such since, instead of a physical object, it looked rather like an absence in the sky. It was simply space, or maybe even an absence of space. He wasn't sure.

However, just as soon as he had seen it, it was gone. It vanished in the same sensation with which it had arrived. Mason was sure he had seen another, smaller object fly out of the disc before it left. Not knowing what else to think, he automatically thought: _this must be some new technology given to the enemy by China… or Russia. I have to hurry—the site is just on the other side of this mountain._ He continued his trek with increased caution.

T minus 21 hours, Mt. Hue:

The President's voice, Kennedy's voice, came back to Mason in a dream.

"We are in grave danger from the Communists…" He slid over a photo of the man Mason was sent to hunt down. Dragovitch.

Resnov's pale blue eyes shone dimly in the fire as his mouth moved under the cloak of his heavy moustache: "Dragovitch, Krepchenko, Steiner… _all _must die!"

He woke and looked frantically around himself.

"Resnov-!" he faltered and came to full consciousness, "I'm not in Vorkuta anymore. That's right, I'm in Vietnam… Dragovitch is here… _somewhere…_"

He gripped Sally, feeling the notched handle and customized trigger housing. She had belonged to another soldier before him: Hudson, a CIA operative and Mason's handler. He had given Mason the weapon with a single directive: "Kill as many as you can."

"I will, Hudson," he said to the darkness, "I will." With that, he rose and shouldered his bag again. As he left the cave, he went over in his mind all of the procedures he must do in order to cover his tracks. _Charlie can't know I've ever been here—I'm a ghost._

But all he could think about was food. He hadn't eaten anything for two days. Food capture wasn't his strong suit, so that was the only sore point he had with the mission. But if the suits (and shades, in Hudson's case) move their pawns to a square, the pawn has no place in protest.

The bush just ahead of him rustled. Mason stopped dead in his tracks and inched down to a half kneel. He could just make out the shape of an animal moving behind the bush. He took out his knife without a sound and took the first step. The bush grew nearer as the rustling grew louder. All the while, Mason thought about what kind of animal it was. _It's probably some damn squirrel. Your mind makes things bigger and better when you're hungry—it's a survival instinct passed down from our evolutionary ancestors. _And Mason felt quite feral in the moment. He lowered himself again right in front of the bush and, with hardly a sound, leapt forward.

There was a cry as his knife grazed the flesh of the creature; but not any cry he had expected. It was a human's cry. As he brought his knife back for another stab he heard the unmistakable sound of a pistol being un-holstered. _I've made a terrible mistake! This is Charlie, squatting in this bush, not some animal! Fuck!_

His hand leapt down to his own pistol, but it was not to be. In all the haze of the tropical twilight he could not foresee the next attack. A flash of red light came from the bush and Sally was at once knocked out of his hand. He dodged to the right and brought up his knife. The haze was thick, but from this new angle he could see the outline of his foe.

The stood apart from one-another: Mason with the knife and the other with his indiscernible weapon. Mason judged him to be quite short, even for a local. He was wearing baggy pants and some sort of tactical gear on his torso. Hanging from his belt was some oblong object that was swaying behind him. But most curious was his head, for he looked as though he were wearing a hat shaped by two ears. Without a doubt, this was the strangest foe Mason had ever laid eyes on.

It spoke.

"Drop the weapon!" The voice was much higher than his own, yet definitely male.

"Who are you?" Mason asked, surprised to be conversing in English with a stranger here.

"Drop the weapon, then we'll talk," asserted the voice once more. Mason had no choice but to comply. _I'm not stupid enough to bring a knife to a gun fight._ The knife thudded against the dense mountain soil. "Kick it away!" He did so. He took off his AK and threw it down on the grass in front of him as well.

The figure approached slowly, and as he did so he came into a shaft of light emanating from a gap in the canopy above. What Mason saw next he would never forget: a short man stood before him with a compact build, but his head was that of a fox and his arms were covered with orange hair.

"Okay, now what the _fuck!?_" came Mason's reaction. In retrospect, it was quite indelicate, but those were the only words he could find to say.

"Yeah, well, you're not the looker yourself either." The stranger's retort was oddly cynical, and to watch the canine face create these human sounds was like nothing Mason had ever seen before.

However, before Mason could inquire further, the creature said: "My name is Fox McCloud. Forgive me, but this is necessary." And with that, his pistol came down upon Mason's head and darkness took him.

**To Be Continued…**


	2. Chapter 2

**Part 2**

T minus 17 hours, Nan-Hue Valley:

"Hey, wake up!" Mason opened his eyes and immediately grasped his head. The strike earlier came back to him and he looked sharply at the fox-man stooping over him. Behind the furry ears he could see a clear night sky.

"What the hell!?" Mason shouted. "Why did you hit me? And… what… what the hell are you, anyway?"

The other sighed and shook his head in annoyance. "My name is Fox McCloud, I told you before. I guess you don't remember because of the take-down."

"You call that a take-down?" replied Mason. "Do you realize that I could bring you to your knees with one hand behind my back?" The threat was empty.

"I doubt it," said Fox, "But the strike was necessary: I can't have anyone making too much noise about my presence. As for what I am, I'm a Cornerian—from the Lylat System."

"Cornerian? Lylat System? What in the ever-loving fuck are you talking about?" Mason was getting more confused by the second. "Look, I've got a job to do. If you let me go now, I might let you live"

Fox eyed the man curiously, then asked: "What's your name?"

"John-fucking-Doe, why do you care?" retorted Mason.

"John Doe?" Fox said as a smirk grew on his face. "Nice name," he added with a slight laugh.

"Much better than _Fox McCloud_ anyway. What the hell kind of parents did you have to name you _Fox_?" At this, Fox's face took a drastic turn into a scowl. He rose his gloved hand and, before Mason could block the blow, slapped him hard across the face.

"My parents are _dead!_" he shouted.

"Jesus Christ, man, okay! Sorry!" Mason stammered, feeling his raw cheek. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"Sorry," Fox said as he squatted down beside Mason, "I'm just a little stressed out right now." He sighed again, then looked at Mason with an inquisitive light. "You're not like the others I've met around here. You're… different."

"I'm an American." Mason saw that the words did not register any reaction on the fox-man's face. "Do you even know where you are?"

"I was sent to this planet—this is Earth, right?" inquired Fox.

"Yes…" Mason had never been asked that before.

"Okay, good. I was sent to Earth to find a certain item. I'm supposed to be in some place called the _Viet Name_, or something—up in the mountains."

"I assume you mean the _Vietnam Mountains_, since that's where you are," replied Mason. "What are you looking for?"

"A weapon of some sort, called the DM" answered Fox.

Now everything made sense. The missile site Mason was sent to was supposedly housing a revolutionary type of ICBM known as the DM. McNamara and the boys at the CIA had speculated that it stood for "De-saturated Missile", since it may be able to pass through radar without being radar-saturated (a common problem among many missiles of that era). A radar-saturated missile would miss the target and maybe even explode in the air. However, one of these "De-saturated Missiles" would be immune to these effects. It scared the hell out of the top brass and Mason too.

Now came a quandary for him: _What are the intentions of this… thing? Does it want to destroy them like me, or is he here to steal the technology? No! You can't trust anyone, Alex!_

"Why are you looking for that?" he asked.

"Classified." The one-word response told Mason that this Fox was never going to reveal his true intentions. _I'd better lean off the subject,_ Mason thought,_ before he starts questioning me about it._ "Are you a mercenary, John Doe?"

"I'm no mercenary," laughed Mason. "Why, are you?"

"I'm the leader of the Star Fox team. We work together with the Cornerian Navy."

"Right… why did I ask."

"So, if you're not a mercenary, then you must be military or something," said Fox with that same inquisitive light in his eyes.

"What makes you say that?" Mason was intentionally dancing around the issue. Officially, he had no connection with the United States Military or the CIA. He was just a lost tourist.

"The way you talk, and that gear you were wearing look pretty fishy." Mason thought about his situation for a little while. _Somehow, I think I can trust this Fox guy. I don't know why, but he seems trustworthy._ Mason had in the past prided himself on his judge of character. Reznov, Woods, Hudson: all were once strangers, yet all were his trusted allies. He had made up his mind.

"Yeah, I'm working with my country's government and military," he explained, "and I'm tracking the DM as well." At this, Fox got back to his feet and began to pace between two trees. He was apparently thinking hard about something. _Alright, Mr. McCloud, I've trusted you; now it's time for you to trust me._

Fox stopped and gave a final nod to himself before turning to Mason. "Alright," he said, "I'm going with you"

T minus 15 hours, the Nan-Hue Pass:

Mason was astounded by the speed at which the creature moved through the forest, all the while making very little sound. Mason himself found it hard to keep up at first, but soon learned the rhythm of the other's movements. Fox had brought Mason in his unconsciousness into the Valley between Mt. Hue and Mt. Sang. This valley ran east-to-west and on its western side there rose a hill. Beyond that hill there was a pass called the Nan-Hue Pass which wound back around Mt. Hue and came right up to the missile site. They now struck that pass but kept to the left of it.

Finally, Fox spoke: "You know, John, I was kind of surprised that you believed me about me being an alien."

"Well," Mason replied, "I've always believed in aliens. Ever since I was a kid, really, I've been dreaming of finally meeting one. I guess my dream came true. I just didn't expect it to happen in this place."

"Do you not like it here? You seem very put-off by your environment."

"No one likes it here," replied Mason. "Nam is a hell-hole."

"There must be something good about it. Everything has both good and bad in it—you just have to look."

"You might be right from where you come from, but here, on this planet, there are men, and then there are monsters. I've met some of the monsters." Mason remembered the cruel face of Dragovitch leering down at him in Cuba.

"You're an interesting man, John," said Fox as he turned to look at Mason.

"By the way," Mason said with a slight laugh, "my name really isn't John Doe."

"Oh, really? What's your name?"

"It's Mason, Alex Mason."

"Well, nice to meet you, Alex"

They continued their trek along the road as the night wore on. There was no moon, so the stars shimmered brightly above the trees. Mason stared into the blackness of the night sky and wondered what it would be like to travel in space. Was it dark? Or was the light of the sun, moon, and the stars magnified? Was it cold, or hot? He could not imagine the immense emptiness. "I think I saw you," Mason said suddenly.

"What?" Fox said, surprised by the sudden statement.

"About two days ago, I think I saw you come out of a purple disc."

"Oh, yeah, that must have been me," replied Fox. "Those discs are called EMI Portals. We, the Star Fox team, use them to travel from one galaxy to another."

"So was that you that fell out of it, or were you in some sort of plane?" asked Mason.

"Plane? Oh! You mean the Arwing. It's a space craft optimized for flight in both space and at all levels of a planet's atmosphere."

"So you've been to space?"

"Been there? I practically live there. We're kind of nomadic, in a sense. Our home isn't a planet at all—it's a ship called the Great Fox."

"Strange… it's so normal for you to go into space; but on this planet, we just figured out how."

"I don't know when the first Lylat civilization went space-bound—I was never really interested in history." Then he added: "We should be quiet now; I haven't heard the wind or any animals for a while now. It's quiet… _too _quiet…"

"You don't have to tell me twice," said Mason under his breath.

They walked quietly for the rest of the night until dawn, and then they found a hollow in the mountain to rest in. The site was near, Mason could feel it.

**To Be Continued…**


	3. Chapter 3

**Part 3**

T minus 12 hours, Nan-Hue Pass:

A mosquito buzzed by Mason's head. He looked up from his path and was awakened to the utter silence the jungle had become. It was almost four hours since they had heard a bird—even longer since they had seen any other animal. _This bug has to be crazy_, he thought, _to come this far into Hell. _He chuckled to himself under his breath. _Yeah, crazy just like us: a CIA hit-man and a furry space pilot. What is this world coming to?_

Suddenly, there was a noise. It would have been barely audible in the usually stifling racket of the Vietnamese jungle; but here in the silence of the Nan-Hue Pass it was as loud to the two companions as gunshot. It was no gunshot, of course: it was the sound of an engine. They both stopped dead.

"It's behind us," Fox whispered, his ears pricking up. "About a mile."

"How can you tell?" asked Mason. Their whispers sounded unbelievably loud in the noisome silence. He felt exposed.

"These ears aren't just for looks, okay?" replied Fox, shooting Mason a wry glance.

They didn't dare to move, and after 20 minutes of steadily increasing engine noise they caught a glimpse of what would soon become their common nightmare. Coming slowly up the road behind them was a convoy of 17 armored trucks, seven of which were uncovered and carrying troops. Mason instantly recognized them as NVA. The other 10 were covered with thick, olive drab canvases. Walking in front of, beside, in between, and behind the trucks were some 200 NVA soldiers. They were armed to the teeth with AK-47s, SVDs, RPG-7s, PMMs, pineapple grenades, and machetes.

It took a full hour for the whole convoy to pass. All the while the ground shook under the feet of Mason and Fox as they crouched as specters among the underbrush.

"God _damn!_" exclaimed Mason when the enemy had passed.

"Okay Mason," said Fox as he turned to the other, apparently disregarding the exclamation, "you've been here a long time. Tell me what you saw."

"Charlie's packing heat—_major heat_. I know they're at war, but this… this looks like something completely different. It looks like they're planning…" Mason trailed off.

"…_Yes? _What are they planning?"

Mason turned to Fox and spoke the words he dreaded so much: "an invasion."

Fox's eyes widened and shone with wonder in the light of the falling moon. "Pepper's Pajamas, are you serious!?"

"Let's just say I have an inherited intuition. My father was a famous detective."

"Oh…" Fox looked uneasily at the ground. Mason decided he needed to change the subject fast.

"Dawn's coming soon, so we'd better reach the site before then unless you want to be part of a Charlie buffet," said Mason, then he added: "They eat dogs here, you know." Fox looked with horror at Mason, and then they were off again—on another, maybe final, run through the jungle.

T minus 10 hours, Hue-Sang NVA Outpost:

They had finally arrived at the missile site, and not a moment too soon: the sun had just peaked out from behind a ridge of Mt. Hue. The sudden light gave them a full view of the compound. It was built like a prison-fortress with a long, thick concrete wall stretching in a vast square to enclose the whole 500-or-so-acres of pure Communist death. Positioned intermittently along the wall and at each corner were tall guard towers sporting search lights and fit to house at least five soldiers each.

To call the entrance a gate would have been a vast understatement: there were a total of five gates positioned in a row. Each gate had two guards stationed permanently on either side. Entering this compound would have been impossible from all fronts.

And then there was the base itself. Like a stack of fiendish building blocks it rose in its jagged, stepped form to terminate in many levels of roofs. There were two helicopter landing pads (one occupied by a HIND-D), pillboxes with heavy machine guns pointed out on all ends, slanted roofs with barbed wire strung around, and the highest flat roof upon which there was a communications array.

In the concrete field surrounding this building were thousands upon thousands of NVA soldiers. There was an incredible level of activity and movement in all corners of the base. The armored trucks were parked on the eastern side and were being unloaded. What they had been carrying was indiscernible from the mountainside. There were also scores of jeeps in that same lot, though some of them could be seen on patrol inside and outside of the base. On the western side there stood two more HIND-Ds and 10 T-34 tanks: all being prepped for war.

Finally, rising on the far southern end of the base was the dark and imposing figure of a missile ready for launch.

"Damn, Alex, you weren't kidding!" said Fox as he slowly took in the full horror of the site.

"Yeah, but I wish I had been," sighed Alex. "In any case, we need to come up with a plan. I've got this," he unzipped the bag and showed Fox the C4, "so we have a sure-fire way of destroying that thing before it's launched. The problem is getting to the missile before they launch it. Command had intel that they wouldn't launch before 1500 hours today, but I'd rather be safe than sorry. I think we should detonate no later than noon today, agreed?"

"Agreed," nodded Fox in an affirming voice. "But how are we going to get in there in the first place? The base is a combination of prison and fortress: it's nigh-on impossible to get in, but if you do you won't get out!"

"Yeah, ain't it a bitch?" laughed Mason. Then it hit him: _They may be looking for us, but they won't be looking for themselves!_ "I've got it!" he exclaimed. "Come on." And with that, he grabbed his furry companion and they bolted ahead.

After a while, Fox could not control himself any longer. "Okay, time-out Alex, I need to know what's going on!"

"I've got a plan," Alex said without even looking at Fox.

"So what's the plan!?" Fox was getting agitated. He hated being left out of plans.

"You'll see…" came the response Fox so despised. "Get down and keep quiet. I'll be back in a few." And with that, Mason was off.

"Brilliant," Fox said as he rolled his eyes and slumped down against a tree. At that moment he felt something in his back. Thinking it was the stub of a branch he shifted to the side. It followed him. Then came a voice: "American, no _move!_" He was caught, and as the butt of a rifle struck his head, Fox's thoughts turned to Alex.

**To Be Continued…**


	4. Chapter 4

**Part 4**

T minus 9 hours, Hue-Sang NVA Outpost:

"_Psst! _Hey, Charlie!" whispered Mason as he crept up to a patrolling soldier. Before he could turn Mason's left hand closed over his mouth and the right gripped his forehead. The soldier struggled, but with a single jerk his neck snapped. Mason felt the dead weight of the soldier in his arms and lowered him carefully to the ground.

Mason dragged the body into a ditch beside the dirt road that circled the base. There he stripped off the BDU and gear. He'd also been careful to take a guard with a balaclava. Within two minutes he was a perfect image (if not a little tall) of one of their guards. _Now all I have to do is take one of their patrol cars, get back to Fox, tie him up, put him in the car, and drive right through the front gates. My Vietnamese is good enough to convince them that I've got a real prisoner. Easy as pie._

But Fox was gone by the time Mason returned. _Son of a bitch—I told him to stay put! _He checked behind every tree and under every bush but found nothing. Eventually he came back to the tree where they had parted ways and that was when he found it. Small, almost invisible, like the tiniest of breadcrumbs there lay three drops of blood on a leaf beside the tree. He stooped and was almost sick. _God damn it! Why? _He continued to converse in his head about what to do, but finally he made up his mind. No matter what, no matter how hard, or far, or hot, he would find Fox. And there he vowed to himself and to the brightening forest: "I'm gonna' kill all these _fucks!_"

Meanwhile, Basement 2 of the Hue-Sang NVA Outpost

There was a strong, cold light glaring in his face when Fox came to. At first he thought it was some foreign star shining through the window of his room on the Great Fox. He tried to shield his eyes from the light, but found that his hands were tied behind him. He was sitting on a small wooden bench. There was a small table to his right and his head felt like it was going to explode. "Where the hell am I?" he said with a slow slur. But as soon as the words left his lips there was a dull thud and his left side gave way to a cruel punch. He was not alone in the room.

"Stop it!" said a voice. It came from directly in front of him, just beyond the glare. "I want our guest to retain some form of comfort." Fox had met another voice that did not fit with the local population; it was more like his own and Mason's, but there was more twang to it. The man sounded considerably older, as well.

"Wh—who…" he stammered, but he was interrupted.

"Shh, shh, now, don't talk." It was the voice again. "Let me get a look at you."

There was movement beyond the light and footsteps came round behind him. "Yep, there's no doubt about it: definitely alien." He felt fingers prod and stroke his head, but he was too tired to resist. "We found your ship. Big white and blue plane-looking-thing out about ten miles north of Mount Hue. Real pretty, and those shield defenses you put up were mighty impressive. We lost two men checking that thing out."

"You expect me to feel sorry for you?" Fox said, trying to sound defiant. His speech was still halting.

"No, no," replied the voice, "I just wanted to let you know that we are… _invested _in you." Now the man cleared his throat and moved to the table beside Fox. The face was obscured in shadow, but his body was close and readily visible: a pair of olive drab pants met the bottom of a short-sleeved shirt of the same color around the waist, and the buttons of this shirt rose to the broad chest of the man and revealed many small medals and colored squares before terminating in the darkness. This was definitely not the attire of the enemy soldiers. In fact, as Fox's memory began to solidify in his mind he noticed that Alex's clothes were the same color as this mysterious man.

"Now, we know you haven't been traveling alone," the man began again. "Who is that American comrade you were with?"

"Doe, John Doe."

"Cute," snickered the man. "Benny, give him another." Immediately, Fox felt his stomach impacted by a large fist. The man got right beside Fox's ear now and his voice changed drastically: "Where do you think you are, huh? Do you think you can dance with us and not get burned? You're an _alien! _Hell, even if you were American they wouldn't save you. No one is coming, no one cares! Now tell me who the other one is or we'll keep you here until you do or you die!"

"Go to hell." Fox had a reputation to keep up—he had a job to do, and no one was going to take his honor away from him.

"Hell?" retorted the voice, now above him. "Boy, we're already there. Benny, get the others in here. I'll be back in two hours and I need him alive—_alive, _you hear? I can't do nothing with a dead dog, and it'll be you in that chair if he dies before we get the info out of him." And with that, the voice was gone. Fox heard a door open and close to his left, footsteps echoing up stairs beyond, then he saw the outline of a short, wide man block out half of the light, and darkness closed around all of his senses.

Unknown time, Basement 2 of the Hue-Sang NVA Outpost:

Fox awoke again to find himself lying face down on a cold, concrete floor. The room was now well-lit and he could hear voices all around him. They were speaking the native language of the country, laughing and shouting. He could make out three distinct voices, one of which was considerably lower than the other two. He knew they would soon notice that he was awake, so he had to keep still as long as possible. He needed to give Alex more time to find him.

But it was hopeless. Within a minute the talking stopped and he was pulled up but the collar of his jacket. He was held inches off the ground by a short, burly man with a wide, emotionless face. He jeered at Fox and then spat in his face, shouting something in the local dialect. He then let Fox fall and kicked him on the ground; and as Fox rolled to the side in pain one of the others grabbed him by the foot and dragged him across the room. The cold floor slid by as fast as Fox's hopes were fading. He knew the drill: don't say anything, keep alive as long as you can. But now, in spurts, his mind wandered and he considered breaking for the door. He would force them to kill him before they did anything else. But he still had hope—for Mason.

Fox was lifted up and his hand ties were looped around a hook on the ceiling. His toes could just barely touch the floor.

"Fox man!" shouted the short, wide man in his low voice. He pulled Fox's head up by the ears and glared into his eyes. "No help come, give answer _now!_ Or we kill you!"

He said nothing. The short one back-handed him across the face and repeated his command.

Fox remained silent. The same hand came the other way this time and packed more of a punch. Then the man said: "You think you smart, but no! Fuck you, alien man! Give answer _now!_"

Fox still made no sound and for a whole minute the man stood glaring at him. Then, to Fox's horror, he produced a knife. It was long, rusted, and cruelly serrated. It also looked as though it had been freshly used on another creature or person.

"You may be smart and strong, fox man," said the man as he brought up the knife to Fox's face, "But my knife is smarter and _stronger!_" Slowly now the knife inched towards Fox's brow, which was now soaked with sweat and tender from the slaps. The tip of the knife touched him above his right eyebrow. He let out a cry as the knife broke through his skin and began its decent toward his eye, though it was already closed as blood ran down his face.

The man began to laugh as the knife drew closer; but just then all sounds stopped. Fox heard a muffled cry and a dull crack, followed by a thud. Fox opened his eyes and there stood Alex Mason, dressed as one of the patrolling guards and still holding the head of the now deceased guard. The other two bodies lay behind him, both with snapped necks.

Fox almost gave out a cry of joy, but Mason's finger shot up to his lips to signal silence. Mason stepped over the short guard and cut Fox's bonds with his knife. Fox whispered in Mason's ear: "You sure are cutting things close here, Alex" And he felt Mason's cheek stretch into a smile.

"Well," replied Mason's voice, barely audible, "At least I wasn't the one hanging around with NVA guards for two hours. Come on, we've got to get out of here."

**To Be Continued…**


	5. Chapter 5

**Part 5**

T minus 7 hours, Hue-Sang NVA Outpost Floor 1:

Mason and Fox had snuck past all of the guards patrolling the halls in the corridors of the base's two basements. Now they were confronted with their final challenge: getting to the rocket and completing the objective. However, as soon as they opened the door on the southern end of the complex, all hope faded. The grounds were literally crawling with soldiers. Fox, who was still weak from his ordeal in the basement, sank down against the wall with a sigh.

Mason looked at him with concern. "Hey," he said quietly, "we can't give up now. The missile is right there, see?" He pointed beyond the scores of soldiers to the towering weapon. It was no more than 100 meters away.

"You go," said Fox, "I can't make it."

"Fox…" But Mason's reply was cut short by a piercing alarm. All of the soldiers before them stopped suddenly like rapids freezing over. An announcement was made in Vietnamese. Mason translated quietly to Fox: "Attention all personnel, there has been a breech in security on the eastern wall. All nonessential units report to shed 22 immediately; all others man alert posts. That is all."

At once the movement resumed with quickened pace and more urgency. Within 15 minutes the path to the missile was cleared, save for four guard houses surrounding the launch site. Fox, when he saw this change, got up and turned to Mason, saying: "I guess our luck hasn't run out after all! But I wonder what kind of disturbance they were talking about. Do you think there's another party here to foil their plans?" His ears twitched upward in expectance.

"Well, I hate to disappoint you, Fox," replied Mason, "but I had put some of that C4 on the eastern wall before breaking in here. I also rigged another hidden one to go off in…" he paused and looked at his watch; then he added: "five seconds. Four, three, two, one—" he pointed to the left and they heard another explosion. "That'll give them something to think about. Come on." With that, they sped off along the southern wall of the central building.

They made sure to keep hidden behind crates and parked jeeps as much as possible, sometimes crawling slowly through dangerously open areas. But no one saw them as they came to a patrolling guard near a parked jeep. Mason signaled Fox to halt and get down.

"Okay," he whispered, "here's the plan: I'll sneak up and take out this guy while you sneak around and get into that vehicle. You know how to hot-wire a car, right?"

"Well," Fox stammered, "I can hot-wire anything so long as I know where the leads are. I may need your help once you're done, though."

"No problem."

Now they advanced silently to the rear of the car and split from each other. Mason halted for a bit, waiting for the guard to look towards the south, away from him. As soon as the opportune moment presented itself, Mason sprang forward. He caught the guard's mouth with his right hand as his left index finger jammed itself behind the trigger of the guard's AK-47. The guard gave a muffled yelp, jerked violently, and tried to fire. All attempts failed. Mason kicked the guard's knees in and he kneeled down, and in a single precise movement he broke the guard's trigger hand. Another muffled cry barely pierced the air, but it was cut short by the AK's stock being forced into the guard's head.

Mason let the unconscious man fall from his arms. He dragged the body back behind a crate and, to make sure no more accidents interfered with his mission, he took his knife and slit the man's throat. A pool of blood collected on the ground and, looking into the reflection, he noticed how beautiful the sky was.

When he returned to the jeep, Fox was already in the passenger seat and the engine was running. Mason was shocked. "You did it already?" he asked.

"Piece of cake," replied Fox. "You Earthlings really need to design your vehicles better—I found the leads right away."

"Well, good for you. Now get down in front of the seat so that no one sees you."

"Alex, are you sure this'll work? I mean, they have to know how different you look. Plus, they're searching for you—_you specifically._"

"I know the dangers, but this is our only shot. We either do this or die." Now he turned to his furry companion on the car's floor beside him. "And I don't feel like dying today." The engine roared as Mason drove off toward the looming icon of their mission's end.

T minus 6 hours, Hue-Sang NVA Outpost Launch Site:

The jeep pulled up to the entrance to the launch site. One of the soldiers in the guardhouse came out of the side door and approached the driver-side window. "Keep quiet," Mason murmured to Fox, proceeding to roll down the window. The guard asked him a question and Mason's reply came in the form of two bullets from Sally; the first hit the guard in the house and the next went between the eyes of the one at the window. And though the shots were silenced, the patrolling soldiers took notice immediately and opened fire on the car.

"Dammit, Alex!" Fox shouted. "You've really done it now."

"Shut up and drive!" replied the other, lifting his AK from the floor below him and leaning out the window.

"What!? Shit!" Fox scrambled and reached the wheel just in time to steer away from the imminent doom of a parked truck. Mason fired an entire clip out of the rifle, killing all of the guards in their way, but there was one more. He had taken cover and was now turning out in front of the car and aiming for Fox. "Mason, take him out!"

"Damn! Out of ammo!"

"Then floor it!" Mason sunk back into the seat and dropped his foot on the pedal. Fox took hold of the hand brake and wrenched it up as he steered the car into a drift. Three shots whizzed through the jeep; one went just between Mason's and Fox's heads. The rear of the car spun and smashed the guard into the wall, killing him.

"Well Alex," said Fox, turning to the other, "I think stealth is officially out."

"You think?" he replied, opening his door. They climbed out and were immediately met with another alarm. The same voice echoed across the compound. Mason sighed and said: "Do I even need to translate?"

"I think I get it," replied Fox. "Come on, let's get to the missile."

It was not long before they came to the fueling truck. It was parked beside the missile and had a stairway leading up to an open door in the side of fuel tank. They approached cautiously, yet no enemy appeared to hinder them.

"I don't like this, Alex," Fox cautioned.

"What's to like?" And they started up the steps.

To their wonder, the door did not simply open onto a fuel port; rather, there was a small room inside this monstrosity. They halted just inside and looked into each-other's worried faces. But before they could whisper, there came a voice from the darkness beyond.

"Welcome, boys." Mason identified the accent as southern American, and Fox recognized it as the faceless man from the basement. He spoke again: "Jerry, hit the lights." Fluorescent bulbs clicked on above them to reveal a circular room. In the middle there stood an older man, wearing the same olive drab clothing that Fox remembered. To their left was another man with darker skin wearing a white dress shirt and an untied tie. He was standing by a light switch. Behind the central man was a large form covered in a black tarp.

"Who are you?" demanded Mason, raising his AK to the older man. He handed Fox Sally from behind his back and Fox pointed the gun at the man beside the switch.

"Boys, boys, will you play nicely?" He made a gesture and both Mason and Fox felt gun barrels dig into their backs. It was a trap. "But where are my manners? You asked me a question, didn't you Mason? Very well, my name is General Corman. Now that I have extended you this courtesy, I would like you to drop your weapons." They had no choice but to do so. "Now kick them away." They did this too. "Jerry, would you kindly pick up those weapons. They won't need them."

The dark-skinned man walked over to the AK and the 1911 in turn and collected them. Then, he took his place beside the General.

"So you're a traitor?" asked Mason, scowling at the General. "You're an American General and you're working for the NVA!? How could you!"

"Now calm down, Mason; and before I go on, would you to be so kind as to put your hands behind your heads? Thanks." Mason and Fox felt increased pressure from the rifles behind them until they lifted their hands and did as the General asked. He proceeded to order the soldiers and Jerry out of the room in Vietnamese. The door slammed behind them and the General began pacing about the room.

"You see, Mason, in this war, things get confused. Power, ideals, the old morality, and practical military necessity. But out here, with the kind of power _I _have, I needn't worry about such things. I don't need to worry about sides or politics—all I have to worry about is how much I use this infinite power that has been bestowed upon me."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Mason said. Fox was silent.

"The DM, Mason, the DM!" shouted the General as he paced closer to Mason. "I've succeeded in creating the DM, and now the world will answer to _me!_ I'll end this petty war—I'll end _all _wars and send the whole system of international politics crashing down! With the DM, no one will stand against me; with the DM, _I'm God!_"

"Yeah right," laughed Mason defiantly, "like a single missile is going to do any of that shit. We've been on to you for months now—your own government has known about this whole thing from the start! And when they find out that it's one of their own that's behind it all, they're not going to treat you any different from the rest of the Communist trash that I take out daily!"

"_Hah!_" laughed Corman, now strolling up to Mason with his hand on his own sidearm holstered on his leg. "What do you know? You're just a grunt! Your ignorance even shows folly beyond yourself. The DM is no _missile_. That bullshit about a Desaturated Missile would never work. Hell, it doesn't even make any sense! No, the DM, my friends, is the embodiment of absolute power. Behold! the product of years of underground Soviet research realized here in my very grasp; behold! the _true _DM: _Dominic Mayhem!_"

With that, Corman ran back to the covered form and unveiled it. There stood the form of a man, with a bowed head, wearing steel on his shoulders and his legs and about his body. He had a grizzled appearance with an eye patch over his right eye and along his bare, muscular arms twirled patterns of tattoos. In total, the man must have been seven-and-a-half feet tall.

His head rose a couple inches and his left eye opened. From beneath the lids came a red glow.

**To Be Continued…**


	6. Chapter 6

**Part 6**

T minus 5.5 hours, Hue-Sang NVA Outpost Missile:

General Corman laughed as Mason and Fox surveyed the strange man now revealed to be the real "DM". Mason turned to Fox to see if his partner was just as perplexed as he was, but he found Fox's face unfazed; though, his fingers were tapping behind his head.

"Well?" said Corman impatiently, "Say something! What do you think?"

"I think…" Mason replied slowly, turning his head back towards the General. "I think this is even more inane than using a missile to threaten the world. Who the fuck is this guy anyway? And what the hell kind of name is 'Dominic Mayhem'? That's a piece of shit."

"You simpletons—you'll never appreciate true beauty." Now Corman walked back to the large form. "Just look at it: like a butterfly emerging from its cocoon—such a beautiful, _beautiful _butterfly!" As he said this, he stroked the rough face of the tall man, bringing his own face closer. The grizzled head turned and looked down at the General and in that instant a Mason saw Corman's face fill with horror. The brute reached a massive hand over and clasped it around Corman's head; the General gave out a long, squealing cry.

Mason and Fox took this chance to run back to the door, but they found it locked. Fox was still tapping on a metallic wrist band he wore on his left arm. Before Mason could ask anything of his comrade, their gaze was drawn to a horrible sight. Corman was now suspended in the air by the beastly man's single hand. Then, the other massive hand rose to also grip the General's head. The old man gave out one last squeal before he was silenced by a hideous cracking and squishing. The hands released General Corman and he fell dead upon the floor with drippings of his blood; his face was hideously distorted and compacted. The beast tuned its red gaze to the two others in the room.

"I think we should be running…" said Mason with steadily increasing intensity in his voice.

"Hold on, I'm almost done," replied Fox, still tapping his wrist apparatus. Dominic Mayhem took a step towards them.

"What the hell are you doing that's more important than keeping your brain inside your head!?" asked a flustered Mason. Mayhem took another step.

"Almost _done_, dammit!" and after a pause, Fox added: "_There!_" And with that an explosion ripped out a massive hole on the far end of the room from them. "_Now _we run!" and the two of them took off, skirting the inner walls of the room to evade the imposing figure. Confused, Mayhem looked from one to the other; then, apparently deeming him more of a threat, it started after Mason.

Fox, being the faster of the two, reached the hole first and, with a gasp from Mason, jumped right out.

"Fox!" shouted Mason. "Fuck! Now I'll have to take on this Dominic thing all by myself!" He looked back at the monster, which was already halfway across the room by now. "Well come on, then. If it's a fight you want, then it's a fight you'll have." He raised his fists. The creature approached with increased speed, letting out a low, rumbling growl that resonated the entire chamber.

Just then, Mason heard a noise behind him like a jet engine. He ventured a quick glance and there was the craft he had seen four days ago. It was shaped much like a jet fighter, but with more fins and moving parts. The fuselage was painted white and the wings and back fins were a deep sapphire blue. In the cockpit sat Fox, beckoning for Mason to jump onto the vehicle. He looked quickly back and saw that Mayhem was looming not three feet behind him with a raised fist. Mason turned back and leapt forward, barely missing the punch as it hammered down like lightning and made a crater-like dent in the metal floor where Mason was just standing. He landed on the nose of the machine and felt it sway dangerously under the force of his landing and his weight. He reached his arms as far as they would go around the fuselage and gripped just in time to prevent himself from sliding off.

"Took you long enough!" shouted Mason, though his voice was drowned out by the noise of the engines. He saw Fox move his lips from inside the cockpit: _Hang on!_ Mason could feel waves of heat waft over him as the vehicle reversed. Then it stopped

"What the hell are you doing!?" he shouted again, still unable to hear his own voice. Fox's hand waved from inside the cockpit, telling him to climb up to the top of the canopy. _Easy for you to say; you're about half my weight_, he thought as he started to pull himself forward.

Mason was just crawling over the windscreen when he heard a deafening roar from the missile behind him. He craned his neck and saw, to his horror, that Dominic Mayhem was running full-speed at the hole blown in the side. _Oh god… he's going to jump!_

He looked back at Fox just in time to see him wildly motioning to the side. Mason leapt to the right and almost slipped. He caught hold of the edge of the wing and hung on for dear life. Just beside his head he saw a cylindrical protrusion extending from the wing; Fox was going to fire on Mayhem. He lifted his free hand to cover his head and he felt the shot rush past him. It felt like someone had punched him hard in the side of the head and he felt his whole body sway violently. Behind him, a fraction of a second later, there was a loud bang and an immense groan.

Surly the monster was finished. Mason glanced back and could see nothing but smoke inside the hole in the side of the missile. Suddenly, there was a clang just beside his head. He looked back and saw a fresh bullet hole carved into the side of the fuselage. Quickly, he turned his gaze down below them to behold scores of NVA soldiers aiming up at them. _Shit_, thought Mason, _I forgot about these guys! _"Fox, get us out of here!" he shouted aloud to the cockpit above him. And, sure enough, the engines whirred louder and they began to rise.

Faster and faster the air rushed past Mason. He struggled back onto the wing and crouched there, gripping the grooves beside the cockpit for dear life. Bullets occasionally whizzed past the flying contraption, but none of them struck their target. Clouds were now beginning to thicken as the base below them dropped to barely the size of Mason's palm.

Eventually they slowed their ascent inside a cool, damp blanket of clouds and the cockpit opened.

"Hey!" Fox shouted over the roar of the engines, "Get in! I think it's high time we left!"

Mason dropped into the seat directly behind Fox and was grateful for the wave of warmth that washed over him as the canopy closed. The noise was also immediately reduced by a large margin. But Mason had other things on his mind.

"We can't go yet," he said, leaning forward.

"What? Why not?" Fox replied, looking exasperated.

"I need to complete the mission. The missile needs to be destroyed!" There was a tone of stubborn urgency Mason's voice as he said this. Fox knew he could not argue. He sighed.

"Okay, then. But we aren't getting back out of there again alive—they'll be waiting for us. We need to restock."

"Restock…?" Mason replied dully, his mind still set on the mission.

"You said they were prepared for war," said Fox, turning to Mason with a wry smile, "and we'll give it to them." He thrust forward on the throttle and Mason was thrown back as they sped off through the clouds.

**To Be Continued…**


	7. Chapter 7

**Part 7**

T minus 4.5 hours, Nan-Hue Valley:

They were back in the clearing where Mason and Fox had first agreed to help each other the night before. It looked like a completely different place in the late morning light. And to Mason, it now felt more like 12 days than the 12 hours it had been since they set off from this place. He glanced over to where he thought he might have been laying, unconscious, last night and wondered: _How am I ever going to go back to a normal life after this? _Indeed, this was by far the strangest and most intense mission he had ever been sent on.

It had taken them only a half-hour to get back here from the base using Fox's flying machine. Mason was surprised to know that Fox had not only his craft (which he referred to as the "Arwing") stored at this site, but also a massive metallic crate full of munitions and supplies. These had been rendered invisible by some cloaking device, which is why Mason could not see them the night before. Now he sat on a log with some weird contraption in his hand and an open instruction booklet on his knee.

_Fox told me this is a rifle_, he thought to himself, once more fixing his mind on trying to figure out how to operate the supposed weapon. _Okay, there's the grip… the trigger… I guess that's the safety_. He looked along the frame, searching for a magazine port, but found nothing of the sort. "Hey Fox," he called. Fox's head appeared around the large crate some feet away.

"What is it now?" he drawled. He apparently had not considered the fact that Earthlings were unaccustomed to alien weapons. This would make the fifth time Mason would ask Fox about the rifle within the last 15 minutes.

"Where does this thing chamber new rounds?" He was expecting Fox to give some obvious answer and return to his work (he was fitting the Arwing with more advanced weaponry). Instead, Fox looked bewildered.

"What?"

"Where do the rounds enter the chamber? This mechanism looks completely backwards to me."

"There are no rounds and no chamber—this isn't a grenade launcher, it's a pulse rifle." Fox was using that condescending tone again, as if this was something a first-grader could easily understand.

"Okay…" Mason had no idea what "pulse rifle" meant. "So where do you put the magazine?"

"Magazine?" Fox gave a short laugh, "What, do you think we live in the 23rd Cycle? There is no magazine. There's a micro-fusion generator attached just under the barrel; do you see the warning label?" Mason looked and, sure enough, there was a warning label showing a tiny crossed-out picture of a person (with a dog's head) opening the gun a certain way and evaporating. He thought the message was pretty clear.

"Why do I even ask…" he said under his breath—though a little too loudly, for Fox shot him a warning glance. He decided to switch to a more practical subject: "Let's form a battle plan."

"Well," began Fox, now abandoning his tasks to come and squat down by Mason, "I don't see any reason to be stealthy about this anymore. I say we go in with the Arwing. I'll fly it and do some bombing runs while you operate the guns I'm attaching now. Once we clear the base, we can focus all of our fire on the missile. Then, once that's good and dead, we'll take care of the site itself."

"You mean destroy the base?"

"Yes."

"…the _entire _base?" The notion made no sense to Mason; _how the fuck are we going to blow up a place that big with such a small arsenal?_

"You obviously don't know how the Star Fox team operates." Fox smiled, "We have been known to cause significant… _collateral damage_, let's say, in the past. Believe me, Alex, if you can build it, we can destroy it, as sure as the oceans of Aquas are deep."

Mason sat for a while. Then, finding no objections, he stood up and faced Fox, who reciprocated. "Okay, let's kick ass!"

"Damn-right, son!" Fox responded, and his fist met Mason's between them. Mason picked up the new weapon, shouldered it, made sure Sally was in her holster, and then followed Fox to the Arwing. _It's time to end this._

T minus 4 hours, above the Hue-Sang NVA Outpost:

The sea of green trees that had been rushing by below them broke suddenly ahead in the gray square that was their target. A thought that had been bothering Mason had now become too much to bear; he had to ask the question.

"Hey Fox, won't they see us on RADAR? Shouldn't we be flying a little… lower?"

"Radar!?" Fox sounded like this question might make him crash the craft, "Do you think the frame is lined with polycarbon-solbendinite for nothing? You people really are living in the middle ages…" He trailed off, leaving Mason slightly offended. At least they didn't have to worry about detection right away.

Fox soon spoke up again, saying, "I'm going to circle around first; tell me what you can see of the activity."

"Okay," Mason replied. He turned to peer out of the cockpit. It was difficult to see the ant-like figures milling about the base. It was clear that they were on full alert. They were half-way through the circle when Mason noticed a horrifying absence. "Fox, the HINDs are missing!"

"What?"

"The HINDs—the choppers! You know, the _other aircraft!_"

"Oh shit, do they know we're here?"

"I can't tell…" Now both of them were looking frantically around the sky surrounding them.

And then he saw it. Straight ahead, like the devilish face of a crocodile, was the impending nose of a HIND-D helicopter.

"SHIT!" they both shouted at once, as Fox rolled the craft to the left. Now they were shooting straight down toward the mountainside.

An alarm abruptly came on in the cockpit: _Lock-on! Lock-on! Evade! Evade!_

Fox reacted just in time, as two missiles swerved just under the right wing, smashing into the forest below in an orange and black ball of fire. They leveled out and barely missed a tree.

"Alex!" Fox shouted, "Use the guns! Take out that bogey!"

"Roger!" Mason grabbed the newly installed controls in front of him. He had no practice—only what Fox had told him. He was operating the rear cannons. He got sight of the chopper, locked on, and pressed the trigger. On the screen, he saw streaks of green light blaze into the background. The frame shuddered slightly from the recoil, but the HIND immediately pulled away.

_Shit! _Mason had lost him. He glanced back and forth between the view of the outside and the rear view on the screen. _Where the hell was he?_

_There! _Diving from the right, the chopper was bearing down on them with its cannons flaring. Streaks of yellow shot past as the vehicle thundered overhead. _Nothing hit—we're safe_.

Then, _Lock-on! Evade!_ "Shit, not again!" Fox cried, frantically pushing buttons and pulling levers.

"Can't you do something? Do that spin thing you did before—" Mason shouted back, frantically. He was now searching for the HIND once more.

"I can't at this altitude, we'll smash our wings on the trees!"

"Well if you can't do a barrel-roll, try a summer-sault or something—_anything_!"

"I know how to fly the damn Arwing!" Fox shouted, as he forced the craft into a steep, twirling climb. When they leveled out again, they were facing the other way—heading right at two missiles speeding forward.

"Fox…?" Mason's concern was mounting.

"Hold on," Fox said through clenched teeth.

"Fox!?" He could read _CCCP _on the side of one of them.

Suddenly, the Arwing tilted to the side and boosted ahead, forcing Mason back into his seat. He had just enough time to look up as the one missile flew straight above them. He knew the other just barely missed the underside of the frame. He glanced at the screen and saw the two long white poles try to correct course back to them, but smash into each other instead.

The HIND was once again heading right for them.

"I think this guy wants to play chicken, Fox," said Mason, grinning.

"Then let's give him a taste of his own medicine," Fox replied. "_Fire everything!_"

Mason pulled the trigger, and the sky before them was filled with blinding white light, just as an immense force rocked the cockpit. Fox dove down at an angle to avoid the debris and Mason peered back up at the destruction. Metal shards and flaming remnants fell from the sky.

"Boom, bitch!" Mason uttered. "Now what?"

"Now?" Fox turned, "Now we attack the base." He turned the Arwing sideways and 180 degrees later they were facing the mass of gray that was the base. "Get ready…"

Now they were almost skimming the surface as the base sped towards them.

"Okay, _give 'em HELL!_" shouted Fox, and Mason rolled out the thunder. The bombs fell from the Arwing like explosive shit from a very angry bird. Mason looked out of the window at the blurred images of burning death as limbs flew off of the NVA soldiers and blood exploded into the air.

Once the Arwing was clear of the base, the AA guns fired up. "Bit late to the party, guys!" Mason shouted back at them. Fox turned to him and said, "We'll make another pass, then I'll drop you at the rocket. I'll fly around until you're done with your business, then just contact me on the radio, okay?"

"Okay," Mason agreed. Flying low, they came up to the base again and bombs flew from their hatches, raining more death from above. The craft slowed after its second pass and banked to the south where the missile still rose into the sky. It came to a hovering stop right beside the tall, slender, metallic shaft of the rocket.

"This is your stop, Alex," Fox jested.

"Yeah, thanks cabbie," Mason shot back. "Don't lollygag too much when I call—I don't want to get caught in a fucking bullet-net by fisherman-Charlie."

"Don't _worry _about it!" said Fox, popping the hatch open. Humid air rushed in and brushed its warmth across Mason's cheeks.

"Catch you on the flip-side!" Mason jumped from the craft, landing hard on the concrete ground. He heard Fox shout something at him, but he didn't know what. The engines roared, the cockpit closed up, the Arwing rose and turned gracefully in the air, and it was off in a burst of blue fire. "Good luck… Star Fox…" Mason turned towards the missile's imposing mass, fingering the C4 in his bag.

T minus 3.5 hours, Hue-Sang NVA Outpost Missile:

Mason peered down the sights of the blaster-rifle as the attached light illuminated the darkness that had once more consumed the missile interior. He was confident the Dominic Mayhem was dead, but he wasn't going to take any chances. He skirted the circular walls, scanning for its hulking form and listening for its heaving breath. Nothing—nothing except the bloodied form of Corman on the floor. Mason had feared this; Mayhem was nowhere to be found. _Oh fucking well_,he thought, _If he isn't here, that's good news_.

Keeping the rifle handy, Mason kneeled down and set to work planting the charges. "Shit," he laughed, admiring his finished work, "there's enough C4 here to blow a hole in the world." Detonator in hand, he strolled back outside and down the steps. Now he took the radio from his belt and pushed in the button to talk.

"Come in, Fox, this is Alex, do you read me? Over."

Nothing.

"Fox, come in, this is Alex! Over."

Suddenly, there was a voice coming from his left: "I am afraid you will find your radio no longer works."

Mason spun around and raised the rifle. Leaning against the south wall was the dark-skinned man with whom General Corman had spoken before.

"_You!_" shouted Mason.

"Yes, me," said the man in a casual voice. "My friends call me Jerry, and I call _this _an EMP generator." He held up a mass of blinking lights and wires. "It has fried all of the electronic devices you currently possess." Mason noticed that he man was otherwise unarmed and quite alone.

"What do you want?" he asked cautiously, keeping the rifle's sights trained on Jerry's head.

"Merely your life, Mr. Mason," Jerry grinned.

"What are you playing at?" Just then, Mason heard (and felt) heavy footsteps coming from behind him. When Mason turned, what he saw nearly knocked him to the ground.

There was Dominic Mayhem, fully functional, carrying two objects. In his left hand was the Arwing, clutched by one of its wings and its cockpit window shattered. In the right hand was Fox, apparently unconscious.

"Son of a—!" Mason was cut off when Mayhem hurled the Arwing at him like an obscenely massive Frisbee. Mason dodged to the right just in time as the craft crashed past him, wrapping itself around one of the rocket's fins. Mason raised the rifle and was about to fire on Mayhem when he noticed, with a sickening pang in his stomach, that it was holding Fox like a meat-shield in front of its head.

"Can't you tell your pet to cut-the-hell-_back!?_" Mason shouted back at Jerry.

"I am afraid that would be… counter-productive. Mayhem only answers to _me_."

"So…" Mason said, as Mayhem stalked forward, still holding Fox aloft. "_That's _it, then, huh? _You're _the true mastermind behind this whole thing! And Corman was just your puppet—this whole base is just your fucking _puppet!_"

Jerry began to clap slowly as his grin broadened. "Very good, Mason, very good. How insightful you are."

"Let's just say it runs in my family. I don't suppose you've ever heard of my father—a famous detective by the name of Cole Phelps," Mason replied, backing away from the impending doom of Dominic Mayhem.

"I certainly have," said Jerry. "Be sure to give him my regards when you see him, will you?" His smile broke into a hideous, toothy grin. "Mayhem, _KILL!_"

The beast grunted and brought a large blade out from behind its back.

"_NOOOOOOOOOOO!_" Screamed Mason, but it was too late.

He saw blood squirt from between Fox and the monster as he fell to his knees.

**To Be Continued…**


	8. Chapter 8

**Part 8**

T minus 3 hours, Hue-Sang NVA Outpost Missile:

Alex Mason was shaking all over when the bloody body of Fox McCloud fell to the ground with a sickening thud. A single tear reluctantly freed itself from his eye and ran down his grizzled face.

"Fox… _no_…" he whispered.

"Yes, yes, poor little furry man," Jerry mused. Mason felt a sudden peak in his fury—he had never been this enraged in his life. _Fuck Dragovitch, fuck Krepchenko, and fuck Steiner—JERRY MUST DIE!_

He leapt up and ran flat-out at Jerry, whose face degenerated into a shocked mess. Mason raised his rifle over his head and was about to break Jerry's head open, when his entire body froze. Jerry was holding another item that looked like a radio attached to a steering wheel in his other hand. It was vibrating slowly and emitting a harsh green glow.

"What… did you… _do _to me!?" Mason struggled to ask, even his mouth was nearly paralyzed.

"This," Jerry held up the strange, glowing apparatus, "is an Antipersonnel Dampening Field Generator. Dominic Mayhem, eliminate this one, too, would you kindly?"

Nothing happened.

"Mayhem, _kill!_" Still nothing. Mason then saw the white shadow of horror drape itself over Jerry's face. "That's… im-im-im_possible!_" Mason was able to turn his head just enough to see the entrails of Dominic Mayhem pour onto the ground as the beast let out a solemn moan and keel over.

_What the hell is going on?_ But before he could consider the situation more, he felt Jerry grab him from behind.

"Show yourself!" shrieked the man. Silence followed, as Mason realized the Jerry was holding his arms in a lock and putting a gun to his temple. There was something else he was forgetting…

_Arm-lock… Jerry… gun… the Field Dampener Machine! He's not using it!_ Using his foot, Mason kicked Jerry's left shin in half with a snap. The man yelped and pulled the trigger, but Mason had already ducked and turned, lifting Jerry's arm over his head. Mason easily shattered Jerry's elbow joint and took his gun.

Jerry fell in a sobbing mess at Mason's feet—his own gun now trained on his head.

"You s-son of a b—!" was all he was able to say before Mason broke his jaw with his knee. He then removed the odd machinery from him and broke it. Then, just to be sure the villain could not cause any more damage, he put a round in Jerry's non-broken leg.

"Stay, boy," said Mason, now turning to investigate Mayhem. He knelt down by the dead, bloody mass. The monster's torso looked as though something had expanded inside of it slowly, until it ruptured the beast's skin. _What could have happened?_

He got up and walked over to where Fox fell.

He was gone.

"Hm…" Mason closed his eyes and smiled as he made the mental connection. He could see the situation in his mind. Fox, held aloft by Mayhem, had waited until the command to kill from Jerry. Then, he had activated the drill pressure grenade. He set it to Mayhem's chest and, as the beast's blood spurted out from the drill entering it, he faked his own death. He had taken a big chance though—Mayhem could have yelped in pain, so Fox must've guessed that pain would not register to the monster. In the end, neither Mason nor Jerry could have been able to see that it was Mayhem's blood and not Fox's.

"A real maverick, huh," Mason whispered, "taking so many chances. And for what?" But he already knew the answer to the question. He made his way over to the rocket. Sure enough, there, leading up the ladder, were smears of blood, and a small handprint by the door.

T minus 3 hours, Hue-Sang NVA Outpost Missile:

He did not even have to say anything as he entered the darkened room inside the missile; Fox heard him coming. "Is he still alive?" he asked from the darkness.

"I'll kill him later. Fox, what—?"

"You know full well, Alex," Fox interrupted. At this, he lit up a bright blue flare. Fox was squatting at the other end of the room, bent over an open panel. Mayhem's blood still dripped from his furry face. "I'm taking the guidance unit. I can't allow your people to have it."

"Fox…"

"Save it, Alex. Nothing you can say will stop me from completing my mission. I've never failed once—not _once!_"

"No, that' not what—" But Fox suddenly stood up and looked Mason dead in the eyes.

"I won't be like my father! They called him a hero, you know. A _hero!_ And for what? For _dying!? _That's not being a hero—that's being weak! That's _not _what I will be! So don't…" he produced a hidden blaster pistol and aimed it at Mason. "_Don't get in my way, Alex!_"

"Just answer one question for me, Fox. What do you intend to do with it?"

"I… That's none of your business! Just get out of here, Alex! I'll blow up the rocket when I'm done—no one will know the difference. You can tell everyone it was sabotage! But you can take that Jerry with you as… as a _prize!_ We can both become _real heroes!_"

"There are no heroes, Fox—not any more. The last one died in '64 and even _she _turned out to be a traitor."

"No, you're _wrong!_" Fox cried, as his eyes filled with tears. "I can—I _will _bring them back!"

"With what? Do you honestly think stealing missile technology is somehow noble?"

"_Stealing?_ Look who's talking, Mr. Agent! I'm just content to keep it from the grubby hands of any human being, whichever side he may be on in this silly little Cold War you have!"

"Is that what you think my mission is? Taking the technology for America? I'm just here to destroy the rocket! That, and _only that _has always been my mission, Fox!"

"I won't let you take it, Alex!"

"I don't _want _it!"

"Then your government must already have the technology!"

"To _hell _with my government! To _hell _with your government, to _hell _with this technology, and to _hell _with this place! I'm here to blow up a missile; and if you stop me, then I'll have to kill your fuzzy ass! So if you want to shoot me, then go ahead! Otherwise, I don't give a _fuck _anymore! This is by far the _worst _mission I've ever been on!"

They stared at each other for a minute before Fox lowered his weapon. "About fucking time," said Mason with a sigh, and walked forward.

"I don't want it either," Fox said, his voice quivering, "so—" But before he could finish, both of them were violently thrown to the ground as the whole missile started to violently vibrate. Mason was barely conscious of his and Fox's head's hitting the ground.

As his consciousness waned, he heard a synthetic voice announce, "Emergency arm and launch activated," and he felt the rocket lift off.

**To Be Continued…**


	9. Chapter 9

**Part 9**

Unknown time, Missile, Unknown airspace:

_Cold…_

_So… cold…_

_Wake up, Mr. Mason. We still require your… assistance._

_Turn off the… air conditioning…_

_I'm afraid I can't do that…_

_Terribly sorry; you'll have to call back later—_

Alex Mason woke with freezing fire in his lungs. He rolled onto his back and clutched at his throat. The air was so cold, so thin, that it was nearly impossible to breathe. He could feel tears welling up in his eyes—and immediately freezing to his face.

_This is it_, he thought with frightening sobriety, _this is how I _really _die. Sorry, Viktor… Sorry, Frank…_

As he turned his head to the side to accept death, he saw two green and metallic-gray boots inches away from his face. He looked up and saw Fox's canine face, slightly obscured by a clear mask. He held the blaster in his right hand and another of the masks in his left.

Before he knew it, he was in the mask (which, by some sort of sci-fi nonsense, must've concentrated and heated air intake) and on his feet. Fox's voice sounded over an internal speaker of the mask.

"Can you hear me, Alex?" he said.

"Yeah, loud and clear," he replied with a nod.

"You feeling alright? Can you stand on your own?"

"Yeah," said Mason, as he gingerly removed Fox's hand from his shoulder. "So," he looked around the room, but could find nothing worth-while to comment on.

"So…" Fox imitated. "Alex, why did the rocket launch?"

"Must've been an emergency launch."

"Who activated it? Jerry couldn't have—"

"No, it wasn't Jerry; it wasn't anyone. This thing must have some sort of failsafe built in so that it launches in the event of the base going on full alert." Mason then added, "Or something like that."

"Well, how do we stop it?" Fox looked expectantly at Mason, with his head cocked to the side. Mason paused for a bit.

"We don't," he finally said.

"No suggestions? No plan? C'mon, Alex, we've _got _to come up with _something!_"

"No, Fox," Mason said, turning sharply to face his furry companion, "we don't have what it takes to stop this thing, alright? All of the controls are off-board; it's a remote-operated, single use, fire-and-forget weapon. The only thing we might be able to do is find out where it's headed with that dumbass guidance system you got so worked up over."

"Yeah, about that…" Fox said, shuffling his feet, "Look, I'm sorry Alex. I—"

"Save it. Do you really want your last words to be an apology?"

"Isn't that how it usually works?" Mason's expression softened at this.

"No," he said, "a soldier has no last words. All he has is a last mag, and then nothing."

"So… we're just going to sit down and give up?" Fox's face set into a stern glare.

"I didn't say that," Mason replied, before walking over to the half-exhumed guidance system at the far wall, but he soon stopped and looked around him with a concerned look on his face.

"What is it?" Fox asked.

"The rocket, isn't it moving?"

"Yeah…" Fox said, indicating the annunciation of the obvious.

"So, why are we still walking on the same floor as we were when it was stationary and upright? We should be walking on the walls."

"Hm," Fox paused and thought for a bit, then came to a conclusion. "It must be suspended in a magnetic sphere that acts like a huge gyroscope.

"How the hell does that work?" Mason asked, still clearly confused.

"Does it look like I have time to explain this to you?" Fox said with exasperation. "Let's get going!"

"Right," Mason shook himself mentally and strode over to the open panel. He knelt down and took a deep breath, tasting the artificial, plastic-filtered air. "So, let's see here…" he took his radio from his belt and popped off the back panel, revealing the circuit board and the batteries. He then took hold of the wires emanating from the guidance system of the rocket and froze. "How the hell do I do this?"

"Do what?" Fox asked from behind him.

"Hold on, shh-shh-shhhh…!" Mason sat trying to remember what the Com-Tech instructor had told him about re-syncing the input/output of the radio. Everything came up either garbled or studded with his random doodles on the field manual during briefings.

"Alex?" Fox was now leaning over him. "_Alex?_"

"_Shhh! _Let me think!" Mason hissed.

"Alex, it's some place called—"

"Fox! _Please!_"

"Alex! _Seriously!_" Mason turned and saw that Fox was trying to show him something on the little wrist screen he wore.

"What, for godsakes?"

"Just look. I already scanned the output signal of the system—it's saying 'Washington D.C.', whatever that means…"

"Holy mother of God…" Mason whispered as all of the blood drained from his face. "Ch-check the latest transmission from the emergency systems."

"Er… hold on," Fox tapped away at his wrist apparatus before saying, "Okay, here it is: _Command 45e: Emergency reassignment; DM deceased, activate WARHEAD. New target: Whisky Delta Charlie 1. ETA: 180 minutes_. Alex, what does it mean?"

"It means _fuck me sideways_. There's a goddamn _nuke _on this thing!"

"It has atomics onboard!? Alex, those things are—oh crap, oh _crap!_" Fox turned around and gripped his ears with his hands. Were it not for the situation, Mason may have burst out laughing at the sight.

"Okay, now check the current ETA for this thing," Mason said, his voice becoming more and more stressed.

"Uhm, it says 25… 25 minutes."

"Okay, this changes things. Give me a minute, I need to figure something real quick…" Mason trailed off and started the necessary trajectory calculations. "Carry the one and… okay, got it! We should be over the Hudson Bay right now! _Perfect!_"

"Why is this perfect?" Fox still sounded weary with shock.

"Fox, that blaster of yours uses plasma energy, right? Super-heated blasts?"

"Well, yeah…"

"Okay, give it here." Mason held out his hand. Fox looked from it to Mason.

"What do you want it for?" he asked suspiciously.

"I… I'm going to shoot the C4 I planted earlier."

"You can't be serious!?" Fox shouted, "You'll _blow it up! _You'll blow _us _up!"

"That's right," Mason said calmly. "You said you wanted to be a hero, Fox. Well, now's your chance! Be a hero with me! You said your father's death was a sign of weakness? Make _yours _a sign of strength!"

"I—" Fox's throat caught, and he could say no more.

"We won't allow any innocent people to die because of a madman's plot and our ineptitude! So what do you say, huh?"

"I say…" Fox looked up at Mason, his eyes burning with the flames of war. "I say it's been an honor, fighting alongside you, Alex Mason." And instead of handing Mason the blaster, he took the man's hand in his own and shook it hard.

"No," Mason said, shaking his head and smiling, "the honor is all mine." He pulled his hand away and, with the snap of a United States Serviceman, he straightened up in a sharp salute. As Fox reciprocated the notion, both pairs of eyes began to well up with tears.

For a whole minute they stood like this: the short fox-man and the tall, battle-hardened veteran. They broke their stance at the exact same time, out of the instinct of a soldier's respect. Without a word, Fox took the blaster by the barrel and presented it to Mason. Mason took it, but held it out still.

"Both of us," was all he needed to say, and Fox nodded, taking the gun as well. And thus they stood, side-by-side, both with a hand on the gun, and both with a finger on the trigger.

Mason closed his eyes, and the world turned upside down.

**To Be Concluded in Part 10!**


	10. Chapter 10

**Part 10**

T minus 20 minutes, Missile, Unknown airspace:

The rocket had stopped, and the air was still. Mason could still feel Fox's fuzzy coat next to him; their hands still gripped the blaster. Everything had stopped, but Mason was still conscious.

The rocket was no longer moving, but it hadn't hit anything—and Mason had not pulled the trigger.

A few seconds later, he realized that their feet were not touching the ground at all. He tried to open his eyes to observe his intriguing situation, but was unable to do so.

They stayed like this for minutes on end, standing on still air. Several times he attempted to open his mouth to speak, but all of his muscles were frozen in place. He could sense, and he could think, but he could not move an inch.

_Shit_, he thought, _what if we stay like this? What if we can't find a way out?_ But as he was thinking this, he heard, with unnerving clarity in the still air, the door of the rocket's room open behind them. Now there were footsteps, crossing what would be the wall to Mason's orientation. _We must be in some sort of field—and gravity must not work here. Is that… could it be… Jerry?_

"You boys sure are lucky to be alive, after an impact like that!" said a voice just outside Mason's field of vision. "I tell ya', most bipeds'd have their legs ripped off entering a Tardian Field at those speeds." Mason heard the man, who spoke in a slight southern twang, and sounded to be in his mid-thirties, chuckle under his breath. Then, without warning, he felt the air around him return to normal as he and Fox dropped ungracefully to the floor.

After a moment of disorientation, Mason managed to sit up. A pair of black shoes and black dress pants stood in front of him. He looked up. The man in front of him wore a black suit, a black tie, a black belt, and a white shirt. His fingers were hooked into his belt, and one of his hands held a pair of black shades. His face was square, with small, dark eyes, a big nose, a wide mouth, and neat, short, black hair with slight sideburns. The man knelt down and offered a hand. Mason took it, and the black-suited man helped him to his feet.

"You okay?" he asked, with a straight face.

"Yeah, but who—?"

"And how about your friend?" said the man, turning to Fox, who was still on the floor. "Cornerian, huh? Haven't seen one of you since '65." He offered Fox his hand, but Fox was already getting to his feet.

"How do you know…?" Fox trailed off, wearing an extremely confused expression.

"Gentlemen," said the man, straightening his suit with an air of importance, "I am agent K with the Men in Black. We are the secret organization that oversees and polices alien activity on the planet Earth. And I've gotta' ask you, what in the Hell were you trying to do with this rocket?"

It took Mason several seconds to process this new turn of events. Eventually, it was Fox who answered the man. Before Mason could stop him, Fox had recounted their mission details over the last few hours, leaving out only Mason's name and his specific governmental affiliation. Agent K simply stood there unfazed, as he listened to Fox's tale.

"Hmm…" K uttered, after Fox was done, "That's a neat story—almost unbelievable."

"Please, sir—" Fox started, but K raised his hand to silence him.

"I said _almost _unbelievable, which, in my experience, makes a very probable account. This Jerry fellow you described, what did you do with him?" At this, Mason stepped forward.

"I took care of him," he said.

"You _took care _of him? Son, I don't know if you know this, but this Jerry is an intergalactic fugitive—completely insane, and extremely bipolar."

"Intergalactic? Wait, are you saying he was an alien?" Mason was now more confused than ever.

"Oh yeah. He's a Miditorbian, a race of very adept clothes designers. But I guess he wasn't too interested in the grand family business. No, his area of expertise lies more in the realms of what he likes to call 'threat-chess'. He loves making threats to MiB—this is the second time he's attempted to destroy DC with a golem."

"Uhh…" Mason had no more words to say. This whole situation had devolved into a confused mess.

"But," K continued, despite Mason's obvious loss for a grasp on present reality, "I do have to commend you both on a job well done. It seems this time Jerry was resorting to dirtier tactics than usual, putting a nuclear device on the rocket as well. But enough of that, we need to get you two down to the ground before the field wears off on this thing."

K led the way out of the rocket's side door and into a floating black car. He made a remark about the new technology, but Mason wasn't listening. He and Fox climbed into the back seat of the car and K closed the doors. Soon, they were descending towards the ground far below. Fox looked up to observe the rocket one last time, but Mason did no such thing. He never wanted to see that hunk of metallic hell again in his life.

They touched down by a clear stream running through a clearing in a vast green forest. The doors opened again and the three of them got out into the mercifully mild air. Judging by the rocket's last trajectory checkpoint and by the local terrain, Mason assumed that they were somewhere in upstate New York. K turned to face the two of them.

"Well, here we are," he said, fidgeting with something at his hip.

"What's that…?" Mason and Fox asked in unison.

"This?" K said as he raised a sleek, silver tube with a rounded top. "This is a Neuralizer. It—" but before he could finish, Fox interrupted him.

"I know what that is! Oh, but you _can't!_"

"It's protocol, son—got to. Now, strictly speaking, I don't have to neuralize you. So…"

"What?" Mason asked, looking from Fox to K, "What does it do?"

"It erases memories, Alex," Fox said, his voice breaking. "It'll make you forget the mission." Fox and Mason locked gazes for a couple of seconds.

"I understand," Mason finally said, turning to K, who now wore his shades and held an extra pair in the hand not already occupied by the Neuralizer.

"_What!?_" Fox cried. "But—!"

"No, Fox, listen," Mason said, turning back to his furry companion, "All this, this mission, this intergalactic conflict stuff—it's beyond me. But you… Fox, _you _have to go on. Jerry is still alive, and you _need _to help Agent K stop him before he threatens the US again!"

"But we can stop him together, Alex! We can _both_ work with the MiB!"

"Fox, I have my own mission—my own enemies. I'll deal with this world's nemeses, and you help them deal with Jerry and threats not of this world."

Fox dropped his head, and when he looked up again he had tears in his eyes. "We can never meet again," he said.

"I know," Mason replied, and they backed away from each other. Fox took the extra shades from K and put them on and Mason turned his gaze to K.

"Now all you need to do is look right here," he pointed to the small ocular point at the top of the apparatus. Mason focused on the Neuralizer.

"Stay safe, Alex," he heard Fox say. Mason nodded and felt his mouth stretch into a smile.

"You too," he replied, and then there was a blinding flash of light.

**Epilogue**

T plus 30 minutes, New York City

"Thanks for the ride," Alex Mason said, as he got out of the black car at the JFK International Airport. He leaned down at the passenger window to talk to the FBI agent who had driven him there all the way from upstate New York.

"No problem," said the agent, in his signature southern twang. "Give my best to our boys at Langley once you get there, you hear?"

"I will," Mason said with a smile. With that, and a wave from the agent, the black car drove off, leaving Mason to wonder at the coincidence.

He could remember the agent waking him up amongst the wreckage of the missile, which had fallen over a forest in upstate New York. Mason had apparently been on-board, and had succeeded in bringing the contraption down without detonation. His short-term memory, however, had been affected by a nasty bump on the head during the landing.

"Heh," he chuckled to himself, "Another job well-done."

Mason walked through the sliding doors of the airport and into the cool, air-conditioned lobby, and was hit with an intense pang of depression, mixed with a sense of deja-vu. He shook it off and looked for flight times to Langley.

**THE END**


End file.
